The boy walked long and far, his wounded legs taking him forward one step at a time. Groaning gently as he placed himself on a rock, he looked out into the distance where the girl was. Her starry eyes looked over him eternally, ceaselessly keeping watch, keeping him safe.

He picked up a pebble, feeling its weight in his bloodied, calloused hands.

She was bound to him, and, despite his love for her, he wanted her to be free of him. Because he loved her, he wanted her to be free. She was the only reason he walked.

He gripped the rock tighter, casting his head down with a sigh.

She should be her own, not bound to him.

"Darling, look away from me for a bit."

A voice on the wind. "Things are only going to be harder for you if you hide things from me, you know. Tell me what's wrong. I'm strong. I can protect you."

"What if I want things to be harder for me?"

There was a short pause, and the wind carried along a short snigger. "Well, I didn't know you were a masochist, but we can definitely make arrangements for that! I'm sure I've got some ropes around here somewhere~"

He laughed softly, looking out longingly into the distance. The void in his chest throbbed a little, and he felt the urge to move forward. He asked for a little longer to rest, and it settled.

"How're your wounds?"

"Fine. Nothing to worry about."

"Okay, so you can barely walk from the pain."

He got up, hiding his winces as best he could. "I could run if I wanted to."

His chest throbbed. Time to move

"W-wait!" He could feel her eyes burning into him. "Wait, rest a little more!" The wind was tipped with exasperation. "Would it kill you to take care of yourself, like, at all?"

"Would it kill you to shut up? I'm a man. If I can't handle this much, what use would I be to you?"

The wind hissed. "What USE would you be to me? What are you talking about? I love you, and you love me, that's all we need from each other, I don't need- I don't want anything else from you, so when you talk like this I-"

"Love," he said softly, "isn't going to get me over to you. Love isn't what's going to get you out of that tower. I love you, I love you so much I can hardly bear it. But I need to bear it. My love is worth nothing if I'm not strong."

The wind settled, and went quiet.

He looked over at her. Her starry, terrible eyes were misted with tears, but she didn't dare look away from him.

"Fine, idiot." He felt a faint presence by his side. Her voice sounded more than a little choked. "Keep walking."

And while he did, he thought of her.

He thought about how he didn't really know what love was, but he knew he felt it towards her. If he had a heart, it would be entirely hers. He knew that whatever he felt towards her was pure, untainted. As dirty as he was, he had at least one innocent desire. He thought about how strong she was, how her advice had saved him time and time again. How stupid her jokes were, and how stupid he was when he laughed at them. He thought about the her terrifying wrath and the force of her will, how thunder would roll as she protected him from harm. He thought about the innocence of her laughs and her smiles, the beauty in her tender hands and the gentle whisper of the wind behind her voice. He thought about the strength he'd need to protect her smile.

The boy was possessed by the strange urge to burn.

*****

His wounds burned, and he laughed weakly at the sound of rolling thunder. The wind whipped and howled around him and the creatures surrounding him fled, recognising the sound of the coming disaster. They fled too late. Roaring tempests and a terrible wailing ruined their flesh and shattered their bones. The invisible wind had turned visible and revealed itself, dyed in crimson blood.

She of the Starry Eyes stood, fully manifested in her terrible nakedness. Her pale skin tainted with splotches of red, her face twisted in sorrowful rage and her body shaking in barely contained fury. The length of her silver hair billowed behind her as she ripped and tore through her terrified victims, snarling and voracious, spilling blood as though it were water. The world shook, as lightning struck and filled the glade with the scent of burning flesh. Soon, she was surrounded by nothing but corpses.

And him.

She turned, staring in horror at her beloved. Her beloved, gasping, smiling with what little strength he had left, had been torn to shreds under her watch.

This was her fault.

She swept forward to embrace him, hurriedly knitting his wounds. Her hands trembled as she held onto him, holding back her tears while nursing him, whispering with a shaky voice that he'd be okay. He held her face, kissing her, mumbling sweet words before falling asleep in her arms. And she wept aloud, knowing that she would not be able to stay, knowing she would be leaving her love alone, that she would not be able to help him where he was going, nor give anything to protect him. She clung onto him as long as she could.

When she returned, the walls of the towers seemed to press in closer on her, without the sound of his voice pushing them back.

***

He awoke somewhere the wind could not reach him. Sprawling trails branched out before him within the depths of a dark, treacherous forest. Pulsating trees swayed and thrummed of their own accord, rising up like stygian pillars, an extension of the abyss below. Grey leaves lurched forwards and backwards in an unsynchronised chaotic dance, stuck in wild airborne pandemonium. The thick scent of dying flesh , though familiar, choked the boy, who awoke with splutters and gasps, clutching at his throat and gagging. An incessant chirping ran through the forest. Twittering, humming, the occasional howl, the sound of spilt flesh.

The Forest was alive, and the boy was dying.

And the Curse, sensing this, throbbed, pumping blood through his body and through his wounds. He clenched his body to stifle the pain, gritting his teeth and groaning, but it was no use.

Something rustled nearby, but he took no notice. He couldn't notice. Not now. Not while he was like this.

The Curse throbbed once more, wrapped around the void in his chest, and it had long since taken the place of his heart. The Curse was his strength, his greatest boon. It was power that never disappointed, and power that he hated. It was the power he needed. And it throbbed with this power, pumping blood and pain through his body, through his fists, through his arms, through and through his being.

The Forest went quiet as the boy screamed.

He burned, and as he burned, he wished he were dead. And as he burned, the weakness in him died. And as he burned, the filth in him was burned away. And as he burned, so did his regrets, and his shame, along with the past he'd come to hate. And as he burned, his eyes turned alight, growing accustomed to the dark. And as he burned, his muscles rippled and grew, becoming tough enough to bear the blows of despair. And as he burned, the curse grew, larger and larger, and with it grew the strength of his soul, such that an eternal fire would burn within his depths, burning what was weak and tempering all else. And as he burned, a heart began to grow in the void of his chest.

And once he stopped burning, he was strong.

Once he stopped burning, he sought fire once more.